


Curry Sauce, Scraps and a Smack

by Jaxon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Cokeworth, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 18:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxon/pseuds/Jaxon
Summary: In an impoverished community, work comes in fits and starts, and life is a balancing act.  Tobias and Eileen have long learnt that they're always going to be short on something:  work, money, food, time, patience...But young Severus struggles to handle the ebb and the flow; one month he's tripping over his father, tempers flaring and voices raised - in another, Tobias is an invisible man who barely leaves a trace of himself behind...Severus doesn't understand; he just wants his da.





	Curry Sauce, Scraps and a Smack

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt: Concept: Snape loves fish and chips.

He doesn’t see his da very much anymore.  

Not like last year.  Last year, Tobias was a permanent fixture in the cramped terrace and his presence was overwhelming.  His broad shoulders and long legs seemed oversized in comparison to his slender wife and child, and his impatience and frustration were too ferocious for any room to easily contain.

At Tobias’ hand, the radio banged out at all hours, at a volume Eileen would never have permitted when it was just her and Severus - but Severus secretly welcomed the loud distraction from his constantly warring parents.  He couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t argued, but the two of them tripping over each other all day long seemed to have made things worse; a lot worse.

He hated Tobias being home.  If Tobias was home, it meant he wasn’t earning.  If his da wasn’t earning, then money was tight, and food was scarce - and food being scarce meant that tempers frayed.  His mam reckoned coffee was an appetite suppressant, and her hand never seemed to be far from the tin of dried granules - whilst Tobias favoured his pouch of rolling tobacco, lighting up a constant stream of fags which sent coils of blue and plumes of white spiralling into the air.  

“D’yer ‘ave to smoke in ‘ere when I’m ‘avin’ a bath?”  Severus complained one night, as he reached his arm awkwardly over his shoulder to soap his back.  

“I’m readin’ the paper, yer soft sod,” Tobias grumbled.  “Man’s gotta ‘ave a fag when he’s readin’ ‘is news.”

“Yer could read it in the kitchen.”

“Yer want me to fuck off from the warm fire into the kitchen?”

“Or the yard,” Severus added, waspishly.  “Then yer smoke wun’t collect an’ ‘ang around.  It’d…dissipate.”

“Dissipate?  Dissipate?”  The disdain dripped from Tobias’ words.  “I’ll fuckin’ dissipate you, yer fuckin’ mither arse.  How about yer could fuck yersel’ off outta my ‘ouse, son.  How’s ‘bout that?”  

“I was only sayin’.”

The Friday after, Severus pulled off his shirt and socks and trousers, leaving them in a tight ball by the side of his bed.  He clattered loudly down the stairs in exactly the way his mother had told him not to, and drew himself to a halt when he saw the empty space before the fire.  Only moments earlier, his mother had been washing in the tin bath before the fire, and had sent him up to undress for his turn in the grimy water.

“Mam!   Mam?  I thought you said it was-”  

“Bath night.”  Tobias seemingly emerged from nowhere, and grabbed Severus roughly by his arm, propelling him across the kitchen, out of the back door and into the yard.

“Da!” Severus tried to wrestle free, but then his eyes widened as he saw the tin bath sat on the flagstones.  The bath was half full, much of its contents having slopped across the paving; it had obviously been an effort to maul it to its new position.  It was bitterly cold outside, and glancing up, Severus could see the faces of the neighbours in the windows down the street, all peering around the net curtains to see the cause of the commotion, all staring at him with interest; it was clear they weren’t going away anytime soon - this was much more engrossing than Coronation Street.

Severus’ breath caught in his chest as he turned to his father, who was looking at him with an odd gleam in his eye.  “Da, pleas-”

“Get in.”

“Da…  I din-”

“And don’t yer dare fuckin’ knock on this door til yer fuckin’ clean,” Tobias said, slamming the back door with a ferocity that made the glass pane rattle.

* * *

No, he doesn’t see his da very much anymore.  

Short time stopped, and Thursday and Friday were threaded back into the working week.  Tobias leaves at 8 and is back for 6.  The radio is quieter, and their plates are full, with thick slices of bread hanging off the edge of the plate.  Eating’s a race now - not concerned with savouring every mouthful, in the knowledge that there’s no more until breakfast.  If hunger strikes now, there’s always chance of a sugar buttie before bed.

Tobias finishes first - and then raises his fork, hanging it over Severus’ meal.  “Not hungry, lad?”

Severus’ arm rounds his plate as he shovels food quickly into his mouth.  “Angin’, Da.”

And his dad laughs - a hearty boom that fills the house.  “Me an’ all, son - so get it down yer neck afore me appetite gets the best o’ me.”  

“Don’t tease the boy, Toby,” Eileen admonishes, pecking him on the cheek, her lips soft against his rough stubble.  He twists until his lips meet hers, and then he’s up - the pair of them retreating to the cramped kitchen whilst Severus hastily gulps down the rest of his potatoes.

Ten minutes later, he sits on the back step with his da, watching as he knocks the mud off his boots and wipes them round with a rag.  Severus grabs the tins of polish, and Tobias uses one brush then the other to treat and shine the leather.  He gives them a once over with a dry cloth and then pulls them on his feet.

“Da?”

“Get yer shoes on, lad,” he says, striding to the coalhouse, and pulling out the football.  “If yer fancy a kick about across the rec?”

“Yes!”  Severus rushes past his mum to grab his shoes, and Eileen wipes her hands on her apron, her eyebrow raised.  “At this time?  On a school night?”

“Nowt that school can teach ‘im,” Tobias shrugged.  “He’s full o’ them fancy words from yer books already.  But a proper left foot, now that’s worth ‘avin.”  

* * *

He really doesn’t see his da anymore.  

The orders pile in, and overtime starts - a half hour in the morning, and another at night.  Then an hour.  Then a half.  Nowadays, Severus gets up in the dark, and his da has already left - his mug is cold to the touch, with quarter of an inch of dark tea in the bottom.  At night, he sits on the step, and waits for him to come home - but more often than not, his mam bustles him off to bed before he sets eyes on his old man.

“Just ten more minutes?”

Tobias missed Severus’ first footy match, where he made his debut against that posh school from over the river - and his first goal, two weeks later against the all boys school.  He completely missed the Tuesday evening carol service despite promising that he’d get there, and only just managed to catch the last ten minutes of the Friday afternoon church nativity where Severus was narrator - which Eileen claimed was only because their boy was the only child who went to Sunday school regularly who could read aloud with confidence.  Severus thought she was more disappointed than he was that he didn’t get to be Joseph.

It wasn’t all bad, Severus mused - Tobias had also missed hearing about him breaking Mrs Jones’ window, and swearing at his teacher, and that little explosion of magic down the back alley.  He’d have been belted for sure for the last one, and probably the first two as well.  His mam just cuffed him around the ear and told him to stop letting his emotions get the better of him.

She’s been watching him with a funny expression of late - he thought she was going to coss him for sure when she caught him with his nose in the tin of polish, and she did give him a clip when she caught him rubbing his finger across the empty tobacco pouch his father had left on the table.

“Get on wi’ yer,” he scoffed, as he tugged his shirt off and readied himself for bed.  “Lad’s away wi’ the fairies most of the day.  He wunt notice if I dropped mesel’ down dead.”  

Eileen said nothing, but used her wand to snap the light off, missing the small smile that was playing on her husband’s lips.

* * *

He sees his da on a Saturday.

It’s the best day of the week.  Friday’s still bath night, and his da washes before heading down the pub.  Severus knows to get up early on a Saturday - quietly, lest he disturb his father’s hangover - and count the coins and notes on the worktop.  A good pile means that Tobias was on form - his eye was in with his arrows, or the drop of the dominoes was in his favour.  Other weeks, the pile is meagre - each failed gamble following another, and with alcohol impairing his decision making, Tobias was never capable of calling time on a bad hand.  

Last night was a good night.  Severus secretes one of the notes into his pocket; he’ll give it to his mam when she’s finished chatting to Mary from next door - and she’ll save it.  Tobias knows this little trick the pair of them have conjured, ensuring that there’s always a Saturday to look forward to, even if the Friday before hasn’t gone as planned.

The morning speeds by quickly, filled with shopping, and a lingering visit to the library.  He makes milky tea for two and reads whilst Eileen washes Tobias’ work clothes, and then he eagerly watches as she prepares a simple potion - grinning from ear to ear as she offers him control of the knife, his tongue creeping between his lips as he concentrates on slicing the ingredients into fine ribbons.

As the brew bubbles, he cleans Tobias’ boots, swinging them wildly and banging them against the brickwork before cracking open the tin of polish - and then the familiar tang of cigarette smoke fills the air, and Severus turns and smiles.  His father’s face is craggy - unwashed and unshaven, his odour comprising of Brylcreem, lingering carbolic soap and day-old-ale.  

His da drapes his scarf on Severus’ shoulders, the length almost causing him to trip.  Tobias laughs, and twists it once, twice around his neck before setting off.  Severus trots along, his short legs striving to keep up with his father’s long stride and quick pace.  

They yell from the terraces in unison, disposable cups full of bitter tea in their hands.  When a burly man unapologetically stands before his boy and blocks his view, Tobias lifts Severus onto his shoulders and his son’s heels kick happily against his chest when the ball finds the net.  Severus stays on his shoulders as they walk through the turnstile, the newfound height protecting him from the crush of bodies, and it’s several streets before Tobias sets him down.  Flush with the thrill of the win, Severus runs into the chip shop and presses his nose against the hot glass of the counter.

“Get yer nose off, soft lad,” Tobias rebukes, his voice softer than his words as he pulls his son’s face back from the glass.  “Two large chips, fishcake for the missus, two sausage, mushy peas,” and he looks at his son, “an’ the usual for you, lad?”  

Severus’ silent reply is an emphatic nod.

“Pineapple ring, curry sauce, scraps an’ a smack for the boy.”

“Yer wan’ a smack, eh?”  Mr Davies raised his hand, the chip shovel gleaming under the artificial lights.  

Severus laughs, despite the same joke being repeated every week, and points at the battered flat potato, his greasy finger smudging the glass once more.  “One o’ them.”

He watches keenly as the proprietor liberally splashes malt vinegar across the parcels, followed by a steady flow of salt.  He wraps the packages quickly, the vinegar soaking through the paper.

“Here y’are, careful wi’ it,” Tobias says, placing a couple of packages carefully onto Severus’ outstretched palms before lifting the rest himself.  They’re warm and damp, and Severus takes his time walking the rest of the way home, keen to ensure that he doesn’t trip.  

At home, Tobias divides the chips into three meals whilst Eileen prepares bread and butter.  She watches as both of her boys carefully construct chip butties, Severus emulating his father’s actions, and then dipping the edge of his rolled over bread into his pot of curry sauce, hot butter escaping from the bottom of the bread and dripping down his small fingers.

“Good day then, boys?”

“The best, Mam,” Severus said, around a mouthful of food.  “The absolute best.”  

**Author's Note:**

> There's something about smell, I think. I can just sense adult Severus smelling those same things; Brylcreem and ale, tobacco and shoe polish, chips and vinegar...and thinking of his father.


End file.
